


Hide and Seek

by Spookykat



Category: Glee
Genre: Abduction, Accidents, Angst, Kidnapping, Multi, Trauma, WIP, multi-chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-02-11
Updated: 2012-05-15
Packaged: 2017-10-30 22:54:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 20,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/337092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spookykat/pseuds/Spookykat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian promised the Warblers that if they made him Captain, he'd get them to Nationals.  Unfortunately for Kurt, Sebastian intends to keep that promise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sebastian Smythe hated waiting.

He’d been doing a lot of that lately.

And it wasn’t something to which he was accustomed.

Waiting for _Gossip Girl_ to come back had been hard (Chuck Bass, after all, was his role model). He’d waited for just the right moment to take over the Warblers, and though it’d been harder still, that had paid off swimmingly. Waiting for one Blaine Anderson to wake up and get bored of that…girly-boy he dated, though? Not so much. 

But that was going to change.

The waiting was about to pay off.

It wasn’t that Sebastian was in love with the guy, but Blaine Anderson was quite the arm-candy, and he’d promised the Warblers if they let him do away with the Council and take over as Captain, he’d be their ticket to Nationals.

Distracting the lead singers of their biggest competition with the tragic loss of their favorite gay would give the Warblers a definite edge, and word on the street was Vocal Adrenaline wasn’t exactly a threat this season. Although they’d placed enough to compete at Regionals, the team had had issues finding its footing and rumor was that they had a new lead singer who seemed to be confused about whether or not he was a Soprano or a Tenor.

“Gentlemen,” Sebastian greeted. “I’ve called this meeting because I’ve been told you were the best.”

“What the hell, Norm? He’s just a kid.” One of the guys said when they spotted him. 

“Who the fuck cares?” Norm replied. “If he’s got the dough, it don’t matter.”

“So I trust that the terms we agreed to still apply?” Sebastian said, choosing to ignore the remarks.

“This is not some fucking scene out of a damn movie kid,” Louie barked. “You got the cash?” 

Sebastian just grinned and handed them both envelopes.

“I trust you’ll find everything there.”

They counted it.

“It wasn’t easy getting the money, but I assume, gentlemen, that I’ll get what I paid for?”

“For cryin’ out loud,” Norm said. “Just tell us what you want us to do.”

“This kid,” Sebastian said, showing them the photograph from Kurt’s profile picture on his Facebook page. “I want him taken care of.”

"By taken care of, you mean..." Norm trailed off.

"In the _Fargo_ sense of the word," Sebastian answered.

“He cheated on you or some shit like that?” Louie asked.

Sebastian chuckled. “No, nothing like that. This is for a far worthier cause. You see, I promised my a capella group that I’d get us to Nationals. Eliminating him will go a long way towards accomplishing that.”

There was silence for a beat, then Louie and Norm laughed loud and long.

“Let me get this straight,” Norm said through wheezes. “You want us to take care of him for you for a singing competition? That’s the funniest shit I’ve ever heard!”

“I don’t get it kid,” Louie said chuckling. “I’ve been in this business for a long damn time. I’ve had guys want to off people for money, for love, for revenge. Hell, I’ve gotten jobs coz somebody hates someone else’s guts. And you want me to do what exactly? For a fucking singing competition?”

“Gentlemen, yours is not to reason why. Yours is to do the damn job. So.” He leaned forward. “Do we have a deal?”

Norm and Louie spent a few minutes counting out the crisp bills in the envelope.

“Deal,” Norm said. “When do you want it done?”

* * *

Kurt opened his eyes, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure he had.

His whole head felt huge, and he panicked, trying to remember how he got here.

He tried to rub is eyes, but found he couldn’t because his hands were bound above his head by rope. Whatever was beneath him was soft, and it squeaked…like a mattress. The coat he had on when he left Blaine’s was gone, and his shoes. He bemoaned the loss of his doc martens, but there were more pressing matters at hand. 

Like how he got here. 

He remembered leaving Blaine’s house in a blind fury. 

It had been an awful fight.

_“I would think after Sleazy McChipmunkface put you in the hospital, you’d be less inclined to talk to him. And you lied to me to hang out with them tonight why, exactly?”_

_“It wasn’t a lie…I just…forgot to tell you.”_

_Kurt glared. “Sebastian made it crystal clear that the Warblers aren’t the way they were when we left. They don’t even have a council anymore. We can’t trust them anymore. And you…you can’t just…be so nice to everyone all the time!”_

_“I told you. Sebastian is nothing to me. We’re not even hanging out! It was just Nick, Jeff and Trent. David quit when he realized that Sebastian had completely taken over things, and most of the guys we knew have graduated.”_

_“Might I remind you that those guys you call friends didn’t lift a damn finger to help when you were injured? And you lied to me to hang out with them tonight why, exactly?”_

_“They’re my friends! Trent explained they had no idea there was rock salt in the slushy, and they apologized for it and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was hanging out with them, but I wasn’t aware that I needed your permission!”_

_“You don’t need my permission, but I really don’t appreciate being lied to. I want to be able to trust you when I’m in New York, and…”_

_“Wait…since when is this about you trusting me?”_

_“Because lying is SO conducive to a healthy relationship,” Kurt snapped back._

_“So you’re telling me you don’t trust me? Seriously?”_

_“I’m sorry. I do trust you, Blaine. It’s not you I’m worried about. But Sebastian? He’s just not going to stop. He just wants you for another notch on his bedpost, and he’s not the kind of guy who takes ‘no’ for an answer. But…” he shook his head. “Forget it. Clearly, you’re just going to do what you want and not care about the consequences.”_

_“Kurt, why are you acting like this? Would you listen to yourself? Aren’t you being just a little irrational?”_

_“Irrational?” Kurt echoed incredulously. “You know what?” he said tersely, gathering his coat and bag. “I’ll just go. I’ll see you on Monday.”_

_Blaine had protested, but Kurt ignored him, and the front door shut with a satisfactory slam. He pulled out of the driveway with the last vestiges of winter nipping at his skin and hot tears spilling down his cheeks._

 

He kept running through the fight in his head, wishing he could’ve just dropped the matter and pretended like he was okay with it, but the more he did that, the angrier he got, and the worst part of it was, he knew why Blaine had felt it necessary to lie. Blaine knew this would be the reaction, and Kurt never wanted to be That Boyfriend. He wanted Blaine to hang out with whomever he wanted to hang out with, even if they did prove to be sleazy or less than loyal. 

He would apologize when he got home. He would send a text as soon as he pulled into the driveway, and hopefully by Monday at Glee, things would be back to normal. 

The two-lane highway was almost deserted, and he was so lost in thought that he barely registered the lights from a car behind him. The driver must’ve forgotten to switch off the brights. It wouldn’t be the first time it’d happened to him on this road, and he knew it wouldn’t be the last, so he switched lanes, but the car only followed suit. He changed lanes again, but this time the car was close…right on his bumper.

“What an asshole!” Kurt swore. It wasn’t something he usually did unless it was the most appropriate word-choice, and as the other driver grew closer and closer and the bright lights began to make driving a challenge, he wished for a name that was a bit stronger.

‘What the hell?!” Kurt pressed his foot on the gas and sped into the next lane, but then then there was the sound of metal against metal as the other driver struck his car again. 

Kurt felt the Navigator losing control and screamed as he realized he was careening towards a patch of trees.

That was the last thing Kurt remembered, and now…

Whatever was beneath him was soft, and it squeaked…like a mattress. The coat he had on when he left Blaine’s was gone, but he still had the shirt and pants that he put on this morning.

His shoulder throbbed and it hurt to breathe. 

He screamed for help, but it was very clear that wherever he was, for the time being, he was alone.

Leaving him to panic alone in the blackness.


	2. Chapter 2

Two years ago, if anyone had looked into a crystal ball and told Carole that she’d be married to a Congressman with two sons, she would’ve demanded her money back and told the person they were crazy.

But here she was, with exactly that, and she couldn’t be happier.

Most of the time.

The whole family had spent New Year’s Eve in Washington, D.C. and Burt was sworn in as a member of Congress for the 113th session. It had been amazing being there with the fireworks and her family, and they even got to shake the President’s hand. Carole made the mistake of telling him she didn’t vote for him, but he’d just smiled and said: “So did about half the country, ma’am. But hopefully you won’t be too disappointed in my job performance in the future.” Carole had giggled and blushed like a school-girl, but coming home to a house without her husband had been hard to get used to.

Harder to get used to still were the frequent nights that Finn and Kurt were both out with their significant others. They had curfews, sure, but this was Saturday night and Carole knew Kurt would be staying at Blaine’s (though she’d have to be water-boarded before she told Burt that), and she was fairly certain that Finn was at Rachel’s for the evening. She was glad to know that her boys happy and so proud of Burt she could pop, but Burt coming home every month or so for a weekend while Congress was in session just wasn’t enough.

And to top it all, it had been an excruciating twelve-hour shift at the hospital. She was only supposed to stay until 11pm, but it was 12:30 before she was able to go home. She was exhausted. All she wanted to do was soak in a hot bath and sleep for a year.

She poured herself a glass of red wine and was just about to turn on the television to watch C-Span. Watching grass growing was on the same level of entertainment, but watching politicians drone on and on made her feel closer to her husband, even if they were showing only Senate proceedings that day. She was about to warm up some leftovers for a quick bite to eat when the doorbell rang.

“Who could it be at this hour?” she wondered to herself. 

She peered through the peep-hole. An auburn-haired woman dressed in a black business suit accompanied by a tall, lanky, dark-haired man were on the other side, and her heart plummeted to her feet when she saw the police badge the woman was holding up. 

He pushed his thick-framed glasses up his nose while the woman introduced herself. “I’m Delia Lebowski, and this is my partner, John Gilnitz,” the woman said dryly. We’re from the Lima Police Department. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

Carole let them in. 

“Excuse me, is this the residence of Burt Hummel?” the woman began.

“Yes, he’s my husband.” Carole said, bracing herself. “It’s not another heart attack is it? Please tell me it’s not another heart attack! His son’s out for the evening, and…I don’t want him driving if he…”

“Ma’am, I assure you, as far as we’re aware, your husband has not had a heart attack,” the woman answered, laying a hand on her shoulder in an effort to calm her down, and Carole sighed in relief. “However, we did find the wreckage of an abandoned vehicle registered in his name on Highway 81 Eastbound. Does your husband own a 2010 Lincoln Navigator?”

Carole gasped. “Oh no. Oh dear God…that’s…” she started to scramble for her phone. “Yes, the car is registered to Burt, but Kurt, our…his son…primarily drives it. Kurt’s okay, isn’t he?”

The detectives exchanged questioning looks.

“We were able to tow the vehicle from the scene,” the man answered. “However, we were unable to locate anyone in or around the area where the vehicle was discovered. Is there any chance your husband was driving it tonight?”

Carole shook her head. “No, he’s out of town on business.”

“So then it’s Kurt, the son, who was most likely to be in the vehicle?” the man clarified.

Carole nodded. "He's seventeen. Can't you people issue an amber alert or something?" 

“Not until this case presents evidence that's met certain criteria, but if that happens, we'll do that. Do you have a recent picture of Kurt that we can pass around?” Detective Lebowsky asked. “Maybe show the press if issuing an Amber Alert becomes necessary? A school photograph perhaps?”

Carole choked back sobs and nodded, going to the mantel above the fireplace, and Lebowski followed her. 

“Wait a second,” Detective Lebowski breathed when she glanced at the picture. “I know that guy,” she said, pointing to a picture taken of the whole family at the wedding. “John, come here,” she said, pointing to the photograph.

“Is that who I think it is?” she asked, taking the picture off the shelf.

“Oh my GOD those commercials were so lame,” Gilnitz said with a chuckle. Lebowski smacked him on the arm.

Carole just sighed and was about to say something when Finn came through the back door.

“Hey Mom?” Finn asked. “I saw a car outside, and...” 

Finn’s voice trailed off. 

“What’s going on?”

* * *

Linus Dutton had no idea what to expect when he was hired as an intern for Ohio’s newest Congressman. His new boss wasn’t a man who made friends with his words, and although he was polite, Linus got the distinct impression that Burt Hummel was not someone you messed with.

Six weeks in, though, Linus was finding out that Congressman Hummel wasn’t such a bad guy. His family called every day, and his son (who’d given Linus a list with explicit instructions regarding food that he was supposed to avoid) usually called more than once. He was one of the few who actually did seem to want to make the world a better place. His taste in music was questionable if his Pandora station of choice was anything to go by, but nobody was perfect.

He’d seen Burt storm into the office after a session of Congress before and slam the door before. He’d heard him yell through the phone, but this particular morning, there was none of that.

“Linus, my office. Now.” Burt barked, and Linus grabbed a pen and legal pad and followed.

“Linus, I want you to tell whoever it is that needs to know that I have to go home today.”

“Uh, for a day or so?” Linus asked, jotting the date down on the legal pad.

“I don’t know…” he said, letting out a shaky breath. “They don’t know where he is…I don’t know…” he trailed off, and inhaled sharply.

“They don’t know where ‘who’ is, sir?” Linus asked, clipping the pen to the edge of the pad.

“Kurt,” Burt answered, his bottom lip trembling a bit.

“Sir, I’m…I’m so sorry.” If there was one thing he’d learned in his six weeks under his new boss, it was how much the man loved his kid.

“Don’t be sorry, just tell whoever needs to know that I’ve gotta take the next flight out. Got it?”

“But, sir, the constitution states that…” 

“I don’t care what the damn rules are. My son is _missing_ and that’s a helluva lot more important to me than any damn piece of paper.”

“What do you, uh….want me to tell the press?” Linus asked. “The press has a way of finding these things out, and…”

“I don’t give a damn about the press right now. Come up with somethin’ good and say I said it. They found his car last night,” he said with a heavy sigh. “It was wrecked, but he was nowhere to be found.”

“Oh man…” Linus breathed. “That’s…I’m so sorry. But if you need to be gone for more than a day or two, there’s protocol…”

“I have to get on the next flight to Columbus.”

“You don’t understand, the consequences established by our nation’s founding fathers…”

“I don’t think you understand,” Burt roared, pounding his fist on the desk, making Linus jump back. “My kid comes first. He’s always come first. Only now, it’s not just him I’ve got to think about. Now, I’ve got a wife back home who, knowin’ her, is cryin’ her eyes out the moment she doesn’t think anyone’s watching, and a stepson who’s ready to tear the town apart lookin’ for him. You’re tellin’ me I can’t go home to my family who needs me right now because some old farts in wigs two hundred years ago said I can’t? That’s the biggest crock of shit I’ve ever heard.”

Linus sighed and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Put in a request by the end of business today and the House and Senate can vote on it by the end of business tomorrow, and you can take the next flight out to Columbus after that. I don’t believe they’ve ever denied anyone a leave in recent history.”


	3. Chapter 3

It was little after nine when Kurt stormed out. Blaine started to call him before he knew his boyfriend had time to get home so he could explain himself better, but Blaine knew that the fight happened not because Kurt was actually suspicious of him, even if he had reason to be. Really, the fight happened because Kurt was worried about a future that was no longer an abstract, distant thing. It was right around the corner, and if Blaine were being honest with himself, he was terrified of it too.

Things were going to change so fast. They already were changing. The Warblers were different. Rachel and Finn were engaged, and before he knew it, Kurt would be in New York. Although he was as sure of Kurt as he was of anything in this world, he couldn’t blame his boyfriend for being nervous about it.

But that left him alone on a Friday night. 

So there was nothing left for him to do but see who was online.

Wes was busy with Harvard things and not on Skype, and David was out of town with his parents that weekend. Calling anyone from New Directions was out of the question, because that would’ve meant rehashing the fight, and he just wanted to forget. 

The only thing to left, then, was kill things in videogames. That lost its appeal after an hour, so he wound up pulling out his _Firefly_ disks, because Kurt hated the series and although he didn’t mind putting off watching it until Kurt wasn’t around, he couldn’t resist. In times like these, Joss Whedon was just necessary.

The thing was, he knew Kurt was sounding crazy, but he also knew he was sort of right. Of course he wanted Kurt to trust him. Of course the Warblers couldn’t be trusted anymore (even if they were just Jeff, Trent and Nick) and he deserved Worst Boyfriend of the Year Award for lying by omission.

He and Kurt had had fights before. The worst part was that it was never about stupid stuff the way Finn and Rachel fought. It was always about the really big stuff, like whether or not Blaine should be able to explore bisexuality, or when they should have sex. It was always the kind of thing that made them need to separate for a few days before they could talk about whatever problems arose in a rational way, and he hated that. He hated the distance. 

Even if it did lead to great make-up sex, he hated the distance it took to get that even more.

More than that, he hated that he’d disappointed Kurt, that he’d let his boyfriend down somehow.

He didn’t know what time he finally fell asleep, but he didn’t even check the user ID when his phone buzzed at his nightstand.

“Blaine, hey man…”

His sleep-fogged brain took a minute to recognize the voice, so he glanced a the caller ID and wondered if he was still dreaming, because while he and Finn had reached an understanding months ago, Finn still didn’t really call just to shoot the breeze. “Sorry, I know it’s late, and I’m sure you and Kurt are…nevermind. I reeeeeally don’t wanna know what I interrupted. Can you just put him on the phone for me?”

“Kurt’s not here, Finn,” Blaine said, rubbing his eyes. “We, um, kind of had a fight. He left around nine or so.”

“Ohhhhh shit,” Finn swore. “Um, I don’t know how to say this, dude, so I’m just gonna say it. There are a couple of cops here. They say Kurt’s car was wrecked and left on the side of the road, and if he’s not with you…we don’t know where he is.”

* * *

“We got him,” Norm (or was it Lou? Sebastian didn’t know the men well enough to distinguish their voices yet, and he really didn’t care) informed him. “We can dump the body in the river yet if you want, or…”

“No, gentlemen,” Sebastian answered. “I’m afraid I wasn’t clear.”

“You said like _Fargo_. I thought that meant, you know, stuff him in a wood-chipper,” Norm (or Lou) responded.

“I mean, if you’ve already done it, I suppose that still accomplishes my goal, but I’d rather you not. I don’t want things to get messy.”

“Oh no,” Norm (or Lou) answered. “He’s still with us. What do you want us to do with him?

“My Aunt Minnie is a snowbird. She’ll be in Florida for the rest of the winter, by which time I think this little venture will have served its purpose. The house is just outside of Fort Wayne, Indiana about an hour and a half away from here. I’m texting you the address and Google Map directions right now.”

“Just so we’re clear, you don’t want us to waste him?”

“Not at all. I just want him out of the way.”

“Kid, has anyone ever told you that you are one sick fuck?”

“I take it as a compliment.”

* * *

More than enough time had passed for Kurt’s eyes to adjust to the dark, but there was no incoming light to negate the blackness. He had no clue where he was. He had no clue how he got there. He heard footsteps above him (two sets, he realized) and two male muffled voices.

He screamed again, as loud and as high and as long as he could.

“Oh for fuck’s sake shut the hell up!” a man’s voice said banging on the door. “It’s the middle of freakin’ nowhere. Nobody’s gonna here you but the birds, kid.”

Then he heard the sound of a doorbell ringing, and screamed again with every ounce of strength he had left.

Finally, the door opened.

“Let me out of here!” Kurt screamed, but it came out raspier than he would’ve liked.

“Not yet,” a familiar voice answered. Kurt couldn’t say he was exactly surprised to see Sebastian’s form standing in the doorway once his eyes adjusted to the light Sebastian had flicked on. He held up a bottle of water and a peanut butter sandwich on white bread. “Time for you to eat up. Can’t have you getting malnourished or dehydrated.”

“Fuck. Off.” Kurt demanded.

“I know you’re probably restricting your carbs to stave off the baby-fat, and can’t say as I blame you there, Jack McFarlane, but the little grocery store out here only had one kind of bread.”

“I know your dad’s the ADA,” Kurt countered. “Mine’s a Congressman. No way is this going to stay out of the press for long. They’re going to find me. You’re going to get caught. Simple as that. And if you don’t let me go,” he said kicking Sebastian in the groin with all of his might as soon as he was close enough to reach with his foot, “you’re going to spend the rest of your life behind bars in a six by eight jail cell.”

“What do you know,” Sebastian wheezed. “The little princess is quite the hellcat.”

“You’re not getting away with—” Kurt started to scream, but was cut off by his captor shoving half of a peanut butter sandwich in his mouth all at once. 

“You are making this much harder on yourself by fighting,” Sebastian said, pouring the entire contents of the bottle of water over his head. “You’re not free to come and go for obvious reasons, and you will be harmed if you try to escape, but I have no intention of killing you. But by the time I’m done, my friend, I’m fairly certain that you’re going to wish I had.”


	4. Chapter 4

Finn sent out texts to the remaining guys of New Directions, and within fifteen minutes, they were all pulling into the driveway.

“Boss says he’s got a task force ready to go, John,” Lebowski said, hanging up her cell phone and putting it in her pocket. “Ma’am, is it okay if we take this picture with us?” she asked, holding up Kurt’s photograph from Sophomore year that had bene removed from its frame.

Carole nodded.

“Who the hell are these people?” Detective Gilnitz demanded when he saw the cars pulling into the driveway.

“Friends of mine and Kurt’s. I thought they could help,” he said as the doorbell rang.

Mike wheeled Artie in. “I brought provisions,” Artie announced, holding up a couple of bottles of soda and some Doritos. “And also my laptop.” He glanced at the two strangers in the room.

“So let me get this straight,” Gilnitz said. “You were going to bring a Wheel-chaired kid out to the woods 

“They’re detectives,” Finn said, answering the unasked question. “So ix-nay on the acking-hay, dude.”

“Finn, I’m pretty sure they speak Pig Latin,” Artie said, nodding his head towards the strangers, “and just so you know, cross my heart, I’ve paid for every single one of the mp3s on my playlist and I never ever ever hack. Because that would be illegal. And please dear God don’t arrest me, I’d be someone’s prison bitch in exactly zero point three seconds, and…”

Lebowski and Gilnitz exchanged half-amused, half-puzzled glances. “Relax kid,” Detective Lebowski said. “We’ve got bigger fish to fry today. And your friends are here, why, exactly?”

Before anyone could answer, the doorbell rang again. 

“Got here as soon as I could,” Blaine said when Finn let him in.

“Dude, I really don’t think you should be here.”

“Finn, he’s my boyfriend. You can’t give me a call like that and then text me saying we’re forming a search party and expect me to just sit on my thumbs!”

“Imayhavekindasentthemessagebyaccident,” Finn mumbled.

“Finn!” Carole admonished.

“Dude, it’s a search party,” Puck pointed out, who’d gotten there before everyone else. “We could use all the man-power we can get. “Besides, Blaine totally took that slushy for Kurt during the Michael stand-off.” Puck clapped Blaine on the shoulder. “You may be a petunia, dude, but you’re a bad-ass petunia in my book.”

“Thanks?” Blaine replied weakly.

“I just don’t want you seeing something you might not be able to handle,” Finn said. “If it’s bad…I’m just saying…I don’t know how I’d react if it were Rachel.”

“So you think I can’t handle it because he’s my boyfriend?” Blaine objected. “He’s your brother!”

“Wait a second, search party?” Detective Lebowski interrupted, shaking her head and rubbing her temples with her fingertips. “Look, I appreciate that you want to find your friend, but let us do our jobs. We can’t have you guys messing up a potential crime scene. You boys play Halo or whatever the hell it is you play on computers these days and hang tight.”

“You can’t do that! He could be out there anywhere and we can’t just sit here and…and…” The rest of the boys began to protest.

Lebowski put a hand up when Gilnitz’s phone buzzed. Gilnitz mumbled something in the phone, then turned to her. “Boss says the task force is on its way to the site, so it’s time to make like a tree.”

Lebowski rolled her eyes. “Forgive him, he just watched _‘Back to the Future’_. Kids, I know you all want to help, but the best thing you can do is just sit tight. If you need anything, or can think of anything that might help with the case, don’t hesitate to call. We’ll give you updates as soon as we have more information. And I promise you,” she said, making her way to the door, “my partner and I are good at our jobs. We’re going to do everything we can to find him.”

 

 

As soon as they were gone, Carole left the room to call Burt, and Artie turned to Finn. “Bring me his laptop. Blaine, you know his password, right? It’d be helpful for hacking purposes.”

“Isn’t that, um, illegal?” Mike asked.

“You say illegal, I say ‘highly useful information.’ Besides, it’ll probably be the second thing they do anyway if, you know…it’s…not good.”

“Artie, no!” Blaine objected. “It’s you know, his email and stuff. It’s private! If he finds out we saw something we shouldn’t have…”

“Look, Man,” Finn said, “I don’t like looking at this stuff without his permission any more than you do. I had to go in his room last month, and he found out and replaced my Playboy stash with issues of Martha Stewart’s Living. But dude, can you sit here and seriously tell me you’d care it would piss him off if it meant we found him?”

“If it helps, I’ll just tell you if there’s anything relevant,” Artie said. 

“Fine,” Blaine finally relented.

“Okay, Blaine, you are very lucky,” Artie said, scrolling down. “Kurt does not have any secret internet boyfriends in Canada he’s hiding away, or anywhere else. Although he is a member of some…interesting mailing lists: Good Lawd…Artie shook his head. “Gloveapalooza.net. Bowtie Addicts and the People Who Love Them. The Taylor Lautner RPF Fan-Fiction Listing…”

“Artie, this is relevant, how exactly?” Finn interjected.

“Uh oh,” Artie said, click on an email. “Dear Sinner: in a very impassioned speech today, your father spoke of what it means to live good American Christian values. He preached about making the world a better place for our children. We were right there with him. And then he started talking about his out-and-proud homosexual son like it was a good thing. You may have fooled your father, but you have not fooled me. You and your kind are ruining our society. You are _ruining_ our children, and you just go on about your business ruining the sanctity of marriage despite everything that The Good Book says about your lifestyle. If it were up to me and my people and the rest of those who sat on the right hand of God in this country, there’d be a lot less of your kind in this world.

 **Watch your step, you faggot, the next one you take could be a long way down!** Signed….NAME.”

“Name? What the hell does that mean?” Puck asked no one in particular. 

“National Association of Marriage Enhancement,” Blaine supplied. “My dad used to show me their brochures,” he added by way of explanation.

“So…this is a hate crime, then?” Rory asked, speaking up for the first time.

“You don’t have those back home?” Sam asked.

“Oh no, we do,” Rory said with a sigh. “It’s just never happened to anyone I’ve known before. How can anyone hate Kurt?”

“He’s been the target of this kind of thing before,” Blaine said, more to Rory than anyone else. Blaine paled. “Karofsky…he could’ve…I mean, Kurt said he’s turned around, but…” 

Like a shot, Puck stood. “Blaine, dude, come on, I’m taking you home.”

“Thanks, but...” Blaine started to ask

“Not asking,” Puck said, tossing Blaine’s jacket at him. “Come on, Short-stuff, you’re riding with.”

* * *

“So…” Blaine asked as they pulled out of the driveway. “I appreciate you taking me home and all, but you do realize that my car’s still there and I haven’t had a drop since Scandals ‘cause Kurt won’t let me, and…”

“Dude, I don’t drink anymore since Beth, and I don’t even really do illegal shit anymore ‘cause I’m trying to keep my visitation rights. Besides, we’re not going to your house.”

Blaine squirmed in his seat. “Then…where are we going?”

Puck turned on a switch Blaine hadn’t even really noticed before and a man’s voice squawked out: “…Yo, Bulldogs, we’ve gotta back’em up out by Highway 81 West-Bound. There’s some City Kitty’s sittin’ pretty and we’ve gotta be on our best behavior. Over and out.”

Puck switched off the radio and the tires screeched as the pulled a U-Turn.

Blaine prayed to anyone who would listen and hung on for dear life, wondering what the hell he’d just gotten himself into.

“I don’t know about you, but I am not going to wait around until they find time to tell us,” Puck informed him.

Blaine swallowed. “Um…that still doesn’t answer my question.”

“That was a CB Radio,” Puck explained. “That dude just told me that I need to slow down on Highway 81, because there’s a bunch of cops up the road. Now, how much you wanna bet that those are the same dudes lookin’ for Kurt?”

“You sure this is…”

It was like Puck wasn’t even listening. “Knowing where the cops are…that’s the kinda thing you want to know when you do the kinda stuff I used to do. I’m kinda outta practice with the whole ‘breaking the law’ thing, and I haven’t had to turn it on in awhile, but the trucker just said that there were cops out on that same highway that detective dude said they were heading to.” He waggled his eyebrows. “In a town like this? This hour of the night? What else can it be?” 

“But they told us not to!”

“If someone tells The Puckzilla where he can’t go, that’s pretty much an open invitation. Seriously, dude. We’re going to that crime scene. Now, how’s about finding us some tunes?”

 

Blaine wanted to ask a million questions. 

The main one being: why the hell was he even here?

Puck never really showed much of an interest in Kurt or his well-being before now as far as Blaine knew, so why all of a sudden was he this invested in finding him? Puck might’ve had his problems with Finn in the past, but Finn and Puck were on good terms now, and they were closer, so why wasn’t he included on this little adventure? And what the hell did Puck exactly hope to accomplish on this little expedition? It wasn’t like the cops weren’t just going to welcome them to the party.

But Blaine chose not to ask any of them and opted instead to just watch the reflective strips on the highway whiz by.

“You really think Karofsky’s behind this?” Puck asked after a long while.

“I don’t know,” Blaine said, laying his head against the cool glass of the window pane. “Kurt hasn’t mentioned him in awhile. I think he’s left Kurt alone. We don’t even know for sure if it’s been an abduction or if he hit his head somewhere and...” Blaine stopped himself short when he saw the blinking blue lights a couple of miles up the road. 

“I know people can change,” Puck said. “I’m proof enough of that. I mean, we all picked on Kurt before Glee, but there was something about the way Karofsky just…wouldn’t let up on Kurt, you know?”

“Yeah,” Blaine said, wondering where this was all going. “He told me.” Blaine paused for a beat. “Not that I don’t appreciate the offer, but…why’d you bring me? Why not Finn?”

Puck shrugged before he climbed out of the truck. “You looked like you could use a little distraction.”

Blaine scrambled to unbuckle his seatbelt and follow. He had to run-walk to keep up with Puck. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

Blaine could almost hear Puck grinning in the darkness. “Dude, when has that ever stopped me before?”


	5. Chapter 5

Blaine felt his stomach churn when a cop shined a light in his face.

They were going to tell them to go away. Possibly arrest them for invading a crime scene. And then his dad would have to come bail him out of jail, and ask why he was friends with the likes of Puck now and force him to quit New Directions, then he’d be even more disappointed in Blaine than he already was (if that was even possible) and this was such a horrible no-good very-bad idea, and there was absolutely no way out of this, and what the hell was he even doing here?

“We should just…go back,” Blaine said.

If Puck had heard anything Blaine had said, he didn’t show it. Instead, he just waved at one of the officers. “Yo, Vince!” 

“What’s up, Puckerman?” Vince yelled back. “How’s that baby girl of yours?”

Puck glanced back at Blaine and nodded as if to say ‘See, what did I tell you?’ and dug his hand into his back pocket and showed off what Blaine was certain had to be the latest picture of his daughter. It was surreal to Blaine—Puck rarely talked about the little girl, and Blaine only heard about his drama with Quinn and Finn through Kurt. It was such a disconnect from the same guy who bragged about getting with whole sororities, to the point where it was beginning to feel like his companion was being possessed by some other person. 

But, if all the weirdness brought him a step closer to Kurt, he wouldn’t complain. Not one bit. For now, he was willing to take whatever gifts the universe had to give.

“What the hell is going on here, man?” Puck asked in a conspiratorial whisper. 

“Jesus H. Christ, it’s a mess! So we get a call in from a trucker saying some car was damaged on the side of the road, right?”

Puck and Blaine both nodded.

“Only…turns out, it’s that Congressman’s kid, you know…the queer? Only, now the guys are sayin’ it wasn’t just a kid bein’ drunk or stupid. He was run off the road.”

Blaine’s stomach clenched at the derogatory term, but he hoped it didn’t show on his face too obviously. “So the kid, any idea what happened to him?” Blaine got up the courage to ask.

The officer shrugged. “Heard ‘em say they found foot tracks like he’d been dragged out of the vehicle and then a second set of tire tracks. Looks like whoever drove him off the side of the road took off with him.” 

Blaine fought the panic that was rising up in his chest. 

“Listen, any chance we could, you know, sneak past and take a look around?”

“I’m afraid that’s a negatory, Puckerman. They’re not lettin’ folks through just yet.”

“Yo Vince!” One of the cops yelled in another vehicle, “take a look at this!”

“You boys hang tight,” Vince said, but as soon as his back was turned, Puck was making his way toward the wreckage of the car and Blaine could do nothing but follow.

* * *

Blaine kept thinking he was going to get caught, but the thing was, nobody noticed. People collected things and put it in bags, just like a scene out of one of those cop shows, but none of them seemed to notice two boys who didn’t belong.

He made his way closer to where most of the cops had gathered, and that’s when he saw the car. There wasn’t any smoke or anything on the passenger side, and at first glance, Blaine breathed a sigh of relief because the passenger’s side was undamaged and it didn’t really look that bad.

“Check it out,” Puck said, nodding towards the front of the car. Blaine made his way around to the driver’s side and that’s when he wanted to throw up. The driver’s side was smashed in to the point where Blaine was pretty sure he couldn’t even find the door-handle anymore, and he wanted to pass out when he saw dried blood smeared on the now-deflated and deployed airbag and windshield.

 _Kurt’s_ blood. 

He’d been hurt, and pretty seriously at that. There was no way he could just be wandering around somewhere with amnesia. Nobody walked away from a scene like this. 

Somebody ran Kurt off the road. They’d meant to hurt him. They wanted him to be incapacitated so they could drag him off, cave-man-style to god-knows-where for god-knows-what purposes, and if Blaine spent any more time dwelling on worst-case scenarios, he was going to either go into a blinding rage or a catatonic breakdown involving the fetal position, whichever came first.

Trying not to look at the steering-wheel, he let his gaze wander over to the passenger’s side. Blaine couldn’t even count how many times he himself had occupied that seat, and after that first kiss, how many times they’d made out…and after they granted their hands Visas south of the boarder, how many times…

Oh, _fuck_. The condoms.

They would see the condoms, and then the torn packages of condoms, which ohmygodthatwouldbesomuchworse, and once they found them, they’d have to tell Burt, and even though Burt reassured him a million times over that he thought he was a good kid and trusted him with his son, Blaine was sure that would change once he knew.

He couldn’t let that happen. He was eighty-percent certain that Burt Hummel didn’t actually posses a flame-thrower, but there was no way he was going to do anything that would test that theory, and besides, there were other weapons Burt could wield that Blaine was pretty sure would be worse.

Nobody was watching him. He was pretty confident that if he just reached in there and pocketed them, nobody would be able to tell.

Problem was, the glove-box wouldn’t shut properly. It fought with him to close until Blaine won the battle with one final slam, and that’s when one of the investigators wearig a CSI jacket whipped his head around and shown a flashlight in his face.

“Hey!” he barked. “What the hell are you doing here? Officer Kimble, we’ve got a situation!”

Puck just glared at him and Blaine shrugged.

“What the hell are you doing out here?”

“I’m just…I had to get something out of my boyfriend’s car.”

The CSI and the officer exchanged glances. 

“You know you’re not supposed to be out here, right?” The CSI officer asked. 

Puck and Blaine exchanged nervous glances. 

“Look, man, it was me, okay?” Puck said.

“I don’t think so,” the officer said, studying Blaine for a minute. “What’s your name, kid?” 

“We’ll just…go,” Blaine said. 

“Not so fast. Mind if I ask what a couple of kids are doing on a highway in the middle of the night?”

“This is my boyfriend’s car,” Blaine said. “I just…I needed to know what happened.”

“You know what I found on your boyfriend’s iphone?”

Blaine’s stomach clenched and he shook his head.

“I found a text to a friend of his that indicated that you guys weren’t exactly…hunky-dory. Trouble in paradise…” he studied the driver’s license. “Blaine?”

“Yeah, we had a fight, but…” Blaine was so fucked. So unbelievably fucked now and there was no getting out of it.

“Well, Blaine,” the officer sneered. “I’ve got guys combing this car for DNA, and I’m pretty sure yours is going to be all over it. Now, you could make this easy on yourself and tell me what happened, or you could make this fun for me and make me guess.”

And then suddenly hands were down his pockets in a way that made him feel a little more invaded than he would’ve liked, and the condom packets were dangled in front of him.

Another officer was searching Puck, somewhere a few feet away, and Blaine could hear their conversation going on a few feet away. Puck was going to get his visitation rights taken away if they arrested him too, and Puck had tried so hard to do the right by his daughter lately, and Blaine felt horrible about that because he was only trying to help Blaine, but Blaine had bigger problems right now.

“Getting rid of evidence?” the offier asked, handing the CSI the condoms.

“No! I …yeah, I guess I was, but…not because I…look, I love Kurt, but his dad is just, really really scary when he wants to be and he’s not going to like the fact that he needed these in his car and he’s never going to let me come over ever ever again.”

“Come on, kid, you’re coming down town to answer a few questions.”

“Can’t I answer questions here? I’ll tell you whatever you want to know, just…I can’t go to jail. Kurt’s dad will kill me. My dad will kill me. You have to believe me! I didn’t do anything!”

“Kid, just calm down,” the officer said, leading him away. “It’s not the end of the world. You’re just coming down to answer a few questions, okay?”

No, it might not have been the end of the world, but Blaine was beginning to think Armageddon was a better option.


	6. Chapter 6

If Blaine hated cop shows before, he absolutely, completely loathed them now. 

For one thing, the coffee was every bit as terrible as the cliché made it out to be, and he stopped counting how many cups he’d had for no other reason than the fact there was nothing else to do but wait and get more and more nervous and more and more caffeinated. For another thing, they never mentioned how long a person had to wait just for someone to talk to them. 

He’d been sitting in the same chair in Interrogation Room B for four hours now according to the clock on the wall, which was the only decoration in the white-walled room. Puck had been led into Interrogation Room A, and although Blaine could hear shouts from time to time, he couldn’t stand the thought of Puck going to jail and possibly losing visitation rights all because of him.

Then, _finally_ , at 5:23 AM after Blaine had drummed out the rhythm of every Katy Perry song on the table three times, the doorknob turned and the woman whom he’d seen at Kurt’s house entered.

“Hello, Mr. Anderson,” she began, studying a printed sheet. “I’m Detective Lebowski. You’re not officially under arrest at this point. You’re here because we just want to ask some questions.”

Blaine nodded. 

“Looks like this is your first run-in with the law. No priors. Not even a speeding ticket.”

“I try to stay out of trouble,” Blaine said, not quite sure where this was going.

“So that begs the question, then,” she said, leaning in closer. “What the frilly fuck were you doing at that crime scene?”

Blaine blinked rapidly and chewed on the inside of his cheek and then inhaled. “It wasn’t my idea to go to the crime scene,” he said finally, hating himself for ratting Puck out after all Puck had done for him. 

Truthfully, though, there wasn’t a real reason for being near the crime scene. He just needed to know something about what happened to Kurt. 

“So you and your friend just decided to go to your boyfriend’s crime scene and remove evidence just for the hell of it?”

Blaine’s eyes widened. “Nothing like that! It’s just…I know Kurt wouldn’t want his dad finding…what I found.”

“Condoms. You were there to get the condoms back?” the detective massaged her temples and yawned.

“No,” Blaine said, and huffed out a sigh in frustration. “It’s just…that stuff has always been private between us. I didn’t want that broadcasted to the world, you know? Especially to his dad. His dad is crazy-over-protective, and if he found out Kurt needed those, he’d probably never let me near him again.”

“How would you characterize your relationship with Kurt? Were you two on good terms?”

Blaine smiled. “Good. Really good,” he answered. 

“Really?” Lebowski balked. “According to a text your boyfriend sent to a mutual friend of yours, one…” she paused to glance down at her notes. “…Ms. Rachel Berry, things weren’t exactly sunshine and roses between you two.”

“We may have had a fight, yes,” Blaine finally relented. “But what couples do you know don’t fight once in awhile?”

“What was it about?”

“It was such a stupid fight,” he said, curling his hands under his chin. “It wasn’t about anything serious. It wasn’t about…anything, actually. I was going to apologize to him tomorrow.” He glanced up at the clock. “Well, I guess today, technically.”   
Only now he wasn’t sure if he was ever going to get to see Kurt again.

“Was he going to leave you? Was that it?” Lebowski asked. 

Blaine rapidly shook his head. “No. I mean, I don’t think so.”

“You transferred from your private school where you were the lead singer to be with your boyfriend, didn’t you? And how does he repay you? By going to school in New York next year. That’s a long way from Ohio. Plenty of other guys for him to flirt with in a big city like that. A lot more options for him.”

“I didn’t do this,” he said in a tone as evenly as he could manage.

“I questioned your neighbors,” Lebowski persisted, voice getting slightly louder. “They could hear a door slam and someone witnessed Kurt leaving your house in a hurry. I’ve gotta level with you, Blaine. Right now, there’s a family hurting for answers, and because the kid’s dad is a Congressman, there’s going to be a whole world out there wanting answers in fairly short order. You’re a smart kid. I’m betting you know what Occam’s razor means. The simplest answer is usually the one that fits. And right now, Occam’s razor applies to you.”

Blaine banged his fist hard against the table. “I. Didn’t. Do. This.” 

“You’ve got quite a temper, don’t you, Mr. Anderson?” Lebowski said with a look of triumph on her face.

“Only when I’m being accused of something I didn’t do.” 

Lebowski sighed. “What time did Kurt leave your residence?”

“Around nine o’clock, I think.”

“Think. Really hard. What did you do after he left.”

Blaine shrugged. “I played video games…”

“Which ones?”

“ _Call of Duty,_ I think.”

“That’s a violent game,” Lebowski commented. “You like violence?”

Blaine didn’t answer.

“And then what did you do?” she finally asked after another beat. 

“Then I watched _Firefly_ until I fell asleep, and the next thing I knew, his step-brother was calling to say he was missing.”

“You’ve already established that your parents are out of town. Anyone else at home with you?”

Blaine shook his head. 

“No friends came over? Did you chat or Skype with anyone online?”

He shook his head again.

“So you were home by yourself after your boyfriend just stormed out of the house and didn’t call anyone to talk about it?”

“They would’ve taken his side,” Blaine answered weakly.

“So, Blaine,” Lebowski said, setting her pen and folder down with a loud thunk on the table, “this is my problem. Right now, we know you and Kurt were fighting. We know you have a temper. Right now, only your DNA showed up at the crime scene. You’re the only person who removed evidence from the crime scene. At the moment, you’re the only one all the arrows are pointing to. Now, tell me the truth. Did you hire someone to run Kurt Hummel off the road?”

“NO!” Blaine exploded. 

Lebowski didn’t even flinch, and didn’t say anything for what seemed to Blaine to be an eternity.

“Let’s try this again,” she said in a dangerously even tone. “You and your boyfriend had a fight. Your DNA is all over the crime scene. You were caught trying to steal evidence from the crime scene. Give me one reason why I should believe you didn’t hire someone to run him off the road.”

“For the last time…” Blaine said with a frustrated sigh. “I didn’t hire anyone! I didn’t do anything to Kurt Hummel!”

Lebowski was about to say something when there was a knock at the door, she sighed. 

The man Blaine saw with her at Kurt’s house entered, carrying a McDonald’s bag and two large coffees.

“Oh thank God,” she breathed, taking one. 

Gilnitz looked from Blaine to Lebowski and back to Blaine again. “We got a hit from one of the DNA samples in CODIS.”

“Norman Blackwell,” he said, handing her the file. “Went to go pick him up, but he wasn’t at the last address is PO had for him. None of his family members know where he is.”

“Finally we’re getting somewhere,” Lebowski crowed. “So, Blaine,” she said, gulping her coffee gratefully, “how did you come into contact with Mr. Blackwell?”

Blaine was about to protest again when there came a swift knock at the door.

Blaine was surprised-yet-not to see Uncle Walter enter.

Walter leaned in so closet that Blaine could tell he hadn’t brushed his teeth before leaving the house. “Your dad called,” he mumbled. “I knew it was only a matter of time before I’d be getting your sorry ass out of hot water. I suppose you just proved me right.”

Walter Anderson would’ve been a walrus if real-life was anything like a Disney cartoon. He was short and obese and had all the charisma of a garden gnome. What little hair he had left on top of his head was peppery grey, and his beard and moustache were a slightly darker shade of grey. 

It was the first time Blaine had seen his uncle since he’d come out of the closet. His Aunt Trisha made it abundantly clear she wanted nothing to do with Blaine after he came out to his family, and Uncle Walter had gone along with it.

Not that Blaine actually missed Uncle Walter. But he was there to help, and right now, Blaine needed all the help he could get. 

“I’m Walter Anderson,” he announced dryly. “I’ll be representing Blaine.” 

He rolled his eyes at Blaine and made it clear he was not happy with his nephew at all.

“My nephew will not be answering any more questions,” he monotoned. “I’ve been retained as his attorney by his parents,” he plopped his briefcase on the table and slumped in the chair next to Blaine. “Anything you need to say to my client from now on will be communicated through me.”


	7. Chapter 7

It was after 9 AM when Uncle Walter declared that they had nothing to hold Blaine on more than circumstantial evidence, and all Blaine was really guilty of was showing up at the wrong place at the wrong time trying to retrieve his own property.

And just like that, Blaine was getting into his uncle’s car and heading home.

Blaine should’ve been relieved, but the truth was, that although he’d escaped the frying pan, he knew the fire was still hot and waiting.

His uncle informed him that he’d called his father as soon as he’d pulled out of the parking lot, and his parents had to change from the evening flight he’d originally scheduled to the afternoon plane, and Blaine could only nod, but he was silently freaking out about so many things. He could only imagine the disappointed look on his father’s face, the forced conversation that would punctuate dinner, followed by the inevitable lecture he’d get, and the cold glares that would all but say ‘I told you so’ from his mother.

And that was just at home.

What was school going to be like on Monday?

Rachel would probably kill him in his sleep for allowing Kurt to be taken so close to Regionals, and if last night was any indication, Finn didn’t need much of a reason to hate him again. And even if some miracle happened and Kurt did come back all in one piece, it would probably be a cold day in hell before Burt would let him back in the Hudson-Hummel house again after finding out about the condoms. 

Truth was, though, he couldn’t really blame them.

Which was why he was a little surprised to see Finn’s number pop up on his Caller ID.

“Mom and I are heading to the airport to pick up Burt, and we were kinda wondering when you were gonna come back for your car, ‘cause you’re kinda blocking Mom in.”

“Um…” was all Blaine could manage. “I’m not sure if that’s exactly possible at the moment.”

“Seriously, Dude? You’re going to make us take my truck? It’s gonna be kind of cramped all the way from Columbus.”

“Finn, sorry…I…it’s been a long night.”

“I know, man…I didn’t get any sleep either. The rest of the guys have been here. It’s already on the news. I guess Burt had to tell Congress to get some time off, and the phone’s been ringing off the hook all morning.”

“No…I mean…yeah, it would’ve been a long night even if I hadn’t been arrested, but…”

“Wait, what?”

“Puck might’ve…not taken me straight home.”

“What’d he do this time?” Finn said with a sigh.

“Oh no! He didn’t do anything. Long story…but it might’ve ended with Puck and me in the back of a police car.”

“Wait, what?!” Finn repeated.

“I don’t know if Puck’s out yet, but I’m on my way home. Look, as soon as my parents get home, I can get the car.”

“I’m still on the whole being arrested part,” Finn said. “Puck can’t be arrested now! He’s eighteen. He’s gonna go to real-people jail, not, you know...juvie.”

“He was still in there with his parole officer and the detective when I left.”

“Anyone else there with him?”

“I don’t…I didn’t…” Blaine stammered.

“And you just…left him there?!” Finn exploded. “To rot?!”

“I didn’t mean to! I just…I’m with my uncle and he’s not exactly inclined to do me any more favors today. I kind of have to go home now, and…look, Finn, I didn’t want to, okay? Especially not after all he did for me.”

“I know, I know…it just sucks ‘cause he doesn’t have money for a lawyer.”

“Isn’t one of Rachel’s dads a lawyer?”

“Yeah, but he kind of doesn’t like Puck. He called Puck’s Mohawk a dead squirrel and named it Scrappy. Told him he had to shave it next time he came over, and Puck’s avoided Rachel’s house ever since.”

“Text me his number. Let me try to talk to him. I can’t just leave Puck hanging.”

“Sending it your way. And Blaine?”

“Yeah?”

“We’ll keep you posted as soon as there’s any news, okay?”

“Thanks. I’ll be by later to get the car.” There was a beat of silence. “Finn?”

“Yeah?”

“I just wanted to say…” Blaine inhaled a sharp breath. He would not break down on the phone in the seat next to his uncle, but he needed Finn to know he had every right to be mad at him. “I mean, I should say it in person, but…I’m really sorry. He should’ve stayed at my place last night, and…”

“Blaine, listen to me. You’re not the one who ran Kurt off the road, okay? Burt is a Congressman now, so Kurt going missing is gonna be a national headline by lunch if it isn’t already. They’re gonna find him. And when they do? You, me and Burt are gonna make sure whoever did this gets what’s coming to them.”

Blaine nodded as though Finn could see it. In the driver’s seat next to him, his uncle let out a huff of annoyance. 

“You want me to call Mr. Berry?” Finn asked after another beat of awkward silence. “I don’t think he hates me yet.”

“That might be a good idea,” Blaine said. He hung up, and closed his eyes and rested his head against the cool glass of the windowpane and let the rhythm of the road lull him to sleep for the rest of the ride home.

* * *

As far as Puck was concerned, in the history of shit, he was currently sitting in the world’s biggest pile of it.

So a guy steals his mom’s car once and crashes it into a store and runs off with an ATM, they find him at a crime scene over a year later, and it’s back to public enemy number one. 

The hot detective lady was getting ready to throw the book at him, and not in a porno movie sort of way. His parole officer was on her way and his ass would be hauled off to jail before the night was over.

His life was pretty much over. He just knew it, and that sucked big hairy balls.

He’d miss Regionals, and if they made it to Nationals, he’d miss that, too. He’d miss graduation. But the worst part was, it’d be a long time before he got to see Beth again, and there was nothing he could do to fix it.

The thing was, he wasn’t even all that surprised. Hell, he knew he’d wind up there the same way Berry knew she’d wind up on Broadway.

But the kicker? He wasn’t here for dealing drugs or getting caught with a fake ID or doing anything cool like robbing a liquor store. 

He was here because he was trying to be the good guy in the situation.

Not that that mattered.

He wasn’t even that surprised when his Nana refused to bail him out of jail again. 

It just sucked because that was his one phone call. 

“You got yourself into this mess, you know,” his parole officer said as she walked in the door. 

Oh, he knew.

But would he do it all over again? For one of his boys? Abso-fucking-lutely.

The hot detective lady had the cuffs out of her pocket and was about to tell him to turn around and read him his rights when a knock came on the door.

“What the hell?” Puck stated in lieu of a greeting.

Hiram Berry entered and sat down in the chair next to Puck.

“So, what’s shakin’, Shawshank?” said.

“And you’re here because…” the detective asked.

“I’m here to represent Mr. Puckerman." He turned to Puck. "My little Rachealla appealed on your behalf.” Then he turned to the detective. “If you were hoping for a party in the county jail, ma’am, I think you’re going to be disappointed.”

“But I don’t…” Puck started. “We aren’t exactly rolling in it. I don’t think we can afoard…”

Mr. Berry put a hand up in protest. “I’m taking this case on a pro-bono basis.”

“Is that like, some gay-thing, ‘cause Kurt and Blaine are my boys and all, but...dude, I don’t swing that way.”

“For free,” Mr. Berry explained, rolling his eyes. “I’m taking the case for free. Almost.”

“I knew it…” Puck said. “What’s the price?”

“Say good-bye to Scrappy,” he replied.

Puck shook his head. “No. Way. I shaved my head once…it wasn’t pretty.”

“Of course if you want to rot in jail, that’s up to you…” Mr. Berry said in a sing-song voice.

“Can you get me out of here?”

“You bet your bippy.” He turned to the detective. “Now,” he said, sitting down and turning to the detective. “What do we have here?”

“Mr. Puckerman was found at a crime scene as an accessory to vandalizing a crime scene.” The parole officer explained.

“Do you have any, you know…actual evidence?” Hiram demanded.

“Well, uh, none of the tests have come back conclusive yet,” the detective explained.

“And again, I ask, do you have actual evidence with which to charge my client?”

“He has priors, “ the parole officer said.

“Where are we? Mayberry?" He rose out of his seat. "We are so unbelievably done here. Noah, come along,” Hiram said, ushering Puck out the door. “We have a date with Supercuts.”


	8. Chapter 8

A soft, grey light began to filter through the crack in the door above him, and that was the only way Kurt could tell that it was now morning. 

He thought he could detect the faintest whiff of coffee brewing and didn’t know whether to be scared or relieved as he heard two sets of heavy footsteps thud against the floor above him. It was anyone’s guess if one of them belonged to Sebastian. 

He had no clue where he was beyond the fact that he seemed to be in a basement, which smelled musty and had no incoming light except for the one door’s crack. Both of his wrists were wrapped several times around by heavy metal chain, like the kind Kurt saw on tires in his dad’s shop during the winter months. He was tied to metal frame of what Kurt figured out during Sebastian’s little visit was a double-sized bed, and the chains made a horrible clanking sound every time he tried to move.

Kurt didn’t think he’d ever been so uncomfortable in his entire life. His mouth felt like sandpaper thanks to the sandwich-turned-gag, and while he’d managed to spit most of it out, peanut butter and pieces of bread were still sticking to the roof of his mouth. Although Kurt was considerably dryer than he was when Sebastian doused him with the water, his clothes were clinging to his skin and he was sure he could smell mold growing all over his favorite jeans, although that was a minor annoyance compared to the fact that his wrists had gone numb a long time ago. Plus, Kurt really really had to go to the bathroom.

But more pressing was the fact that Kurt had no idea where he was, no idea how long he’d been there, and worse still, no clue how to escape. His legs weren’t tied up, but the cramping in his shins were starting to travel up to his thighs. He had no way of knowing how much time had passed since Sebastian left, but one thing was certain: if Blaine wanted to try being tied up any time soon after he got out of this mess, his boyfriend was just plain out of luck, because Kurt was quickly becoming the expert on how much it sucked.

“Hey!” he shouted up at the ceiling. “Can anyone up there hear me? HEY!”

Of course the basement would be sound-proof. His throat was already sore from crying and screaming, and although Kurt had never been a damsel in distress, he certainly wouldn’t sneeze at a prince sweeping in and saving the day. 

Or his dad. Or Blaine. Or hell, even Finn.

Although he couldn’t exactly say he was grateful that Karofsky and his goons made his life hell for the better part of three years, it did give his dad a reason to teach him how to fight back. Coach Sylvester had declared his high kick a lethal weapon that should be registered.

Although that would all be useless if he couldn’t get their attention upstairs. 

This was not okay. His dad would worry himself into another heart attack. He needed to tell Blaine that he was sorry, that what they were fighting about didn’t matter. 

And on top of everything, the NYADA final audition was coming up in two weeks, and no way in hell was Sebastian taking that away from him.

He yelled again, and tried to break shake the chains, which grated against the wall of the basement, giving him an idea.

He did it again, this time harder. If it gave Sebastian or whoever else was up there enough annoyance, they’d come eventually. 

It didn’t take long before he heard footsteps approach the door.

“Hey, kid, you mind keepin’ it down?” he heard a voice that definitely didn’t belong to Sebastian shout through the door. “We’re tryin’ to watch The View.”

“While I’m sure Elisabeth Hasselbeck is giving a rousing diatribe on the merits of prayer in the public school, I have to pee. Badly. If you don’t at least get me out of these chains so I can go to the bathroom, the smell is going to be enough to make the neighbors call the cops, and…”

“Oh for cryin’ out loud, you’re more annoying than my mother’s Pomeranian!” he said, Kurt closed his eyes as soon as the light switch was turned on and opened them slowly. 

“What did you do before your life of crime?” Kurt sniped. “Wal-Mart greeter? K-Mart model?”

“Shut the fuck up, Fancy,” he barked. 

He was shorter than his father and stockier, and Kurt was fairly confident that even as stiff as he was, the chances that he could outrun his captor were pretty good.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as he finally felt the chains losen for the first time since he woke up. The minute his wrists were free, he took his chance. 

The goon doubled over as Kurt’s knee made contact with the man’s groin, and there was a sickening crack of bone as Kurt’s fist made contact with his nose, causing the man to cry out and giving Kurt a chance to escape..

Kurt ran as fast as his legs could carry them, which, considering how stiff he was, was about half of his normal speed, but he was still had a considerable lead when he reached the top of the stairs. He opened the door, only to be greeted with another person, this one bigger and wielding a frying pan. Kurt ducked the swing of the pan only to feel himself being pulled down as a set of hands grabbed his legs.

He bit his tongue hard as his chin made a dull thunking sound against one of the steps.

“That’s it, Princess,” the shorter goon shouted. “That’s fucking it!” he took the frying pan from his partner’s hand. “Say goodnight, Gracie.”

And then there was blackness.

* * *

Sebastian sat with a smirk on his face as Trent, Nick and Jeff finished with the last verse of Elton John’s _‘Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word’_ before Warbler rehearsal officially began.

“Excellent harmonies, gentlemen, as always,” he said, clapping loud and slow, and in such a way that it was clear it wasn’t an applause at all. “But that’s about the gayest thing I’ve ever heard,” he declared. “And it’s never going to get us to Nationals.

“That wasn’t about getting us to Nationals,” Jeff said. “It was about apologizing to our friends.”

“We have to make things right with Blaine and Kurt,” Nick added. 

“What you did to Blaine was just unconscionable!” Trent joined in.

“Guys, I told you it wasn’t meant for Blaine, it was meant for Kurt, and I told you I was going to get us to Nationals, didn’t I? Look, you want to apologize to Blainers, I get it. That’s sweet. Post it up on YouTube. But for Nationals? That song is not gonna cut it.”

“Like that’s supposed to make it all better? Because it was meant for Kurt?” Nick fumed.

“Being a Warbler used to mean something,” Jeff declared. “We were like…help me out here, guys.”

“The Four Tops!” Trent blurted out.

“Only…way more. And mostly white,” Nick added with a nod.

“And sadly lacking the sparkly blazers,” Jeff said.

“What ever happened to ‘Once a Warbler, Always a Warbler?’” Trent demanded.

The other Warblers started to voice their protests, too.

“Gentlemen, relax,” Sebastian drawled. “I have a bit of…how shall I say? Inside information. Suffice it to say, Blaine and Kurt are most definitely on the losing team. Nick, Jeff, Trent, if you want to associate with losers, go right ahead, but don’t go around spreading trade secrets if you do, boys. Everyone else? Start buying your L.A. Groupons, gentlemen, and start brushing up on Hooray for Hollywood for the bus-ride there, because a month from now, we will be on our way. I guarantee it. Now, boys,” he said, passing around sheet music for _In the Dark of the Night_ from _Anastasia_. “Let’s get started on our opening number, hmm?”

 

* * *

Detective Delia Lebowski frowned as she watched Captain Tanner beg Ohio for answers on the evening news.

She hated cases like these.

If it had been a straight, blonde, pretty girl, the nation would be in an uproar right now, invested on bringing the Hummel kid home. However, because it was McKinley High’s Resident Gay Kid, the local press was barely giving her partner the time of day.

But then Congressman Hummel approached the podium. He looked so completely out of place to her wearing a suit. She’d only ever seen him in pictures and on TV wearing flannel. His wife was sniffling beside him and beside her, his step-son looked like a lost little puppy. A freakishly tall lost little puppy.

“Last time I spoke to you, it was as your candidate for Congress. Today, I speak to you as a father. I know a lot of you might think that the way my son lives his life is wrong, but whatever you think of his lifestyle, he didn’t…he doesn’t deserve this. The people who love him don’t deserve this. We just want him safe…back home where he belongs…”

A reporter was asking the man a question, and Lebowski couldn’t take it anymore, and turned the television in the precinct off.

Kurt was almost eighteen, which almost made him too old to issue an Amber Alert, but as soon as an abduction had become evident, that was first on her to-do list. He wasn’t a little kid by any stretch of the definition, but that somehow made it worse. From what his step-mother had told her, Kurt was months away from graduation, weeks away from his audition to some damn theater school. 

Lebowski didn’t know why anyone would want to major in something as horrible as musical theater, but judging from the You Tube videos Gilnitz found had on his Facebook, he had the talent to get out of this town, and she knew how hard kids like Kurt fought to escape from the clutches of Lima Loserdome. 

She was so sure it was the boyfriend, and had told the captain as much when she debriefed him on the progress of the case. But his family had money, so he lawyered up and she was back at ground zero.

Chewing on a pencil, she poured over the evidence for the hundredth time, hoping that there was something she missed when Gilnitz took a seat next to her.

He said nothing for a few minutes and just turned the TV back on.

She rolled her eyes and started filling out paperwork for the case.

“John.”

“What? I’m here to help!”

“I know there’s not much to do in this town, but the case is at a standstill. We won’t have anything to go on until we get results from the lab. Go home.”

“Aw, but D…”

“Don’t call me that. Don’t you have someone else to annoy?”

“Yeah, but you’re my favorite. Plus…” he held up a piece of paper. “I know something you don’t know,” he said in a sing-song voice.

Lebowski rolled her eyes, and Gilnitz was practically dancing in his seat.

“So I did some digging. Apparently, this kid had a few enemies.”

“Enemies?”

“Well, not so much enemy as a guy who visited his Facebook page exactly 237 times in the last few days.”

“So a stalker?”

Gilnitz nodded.

“One David Karofsky. I also found an email from a hate group we could check out.”

She picked up her keys. “What are you waiting for, an engraved invitation?”

Gilnitz could only follow.


	9. Chapter 9

Blaine barely spoke two words since he’d hung up on Finn.

His parents were home by half-past three.

“Where’s your car?” Was all his father had to say about the situation after Blaine explained everything.

“It’s at Kurt’s,” Blaine informed him, and with that, he turned on his heels, went upstairs, barely listening as his father told him they would get it after dinner, and closed his door.

 

Several hours later Blaine found himself in his second passenger seat of the day. He hadn’t slept at all in the past forty-eight hours, and he didn’t know if he’d be able to sleep again. 

The worst part of it was, he felt like he’d been in a passenger seat since this whole thing began. Before that, since that stupid fight. 

They were half-way there before his father actually spoke.

“Blaine, your mother and I are very concerned about you,” he said, eyes never leaving the road.

Blaine said nothing.

“You’re very lucky that your Uncle Walter was able to get you out of that mess, Blaine. I don’t think I need to tell you that.”

Blaine’s jaw clenched and he watched the clouds float by above the open road in front of them, and wished he could be anywhere else at that moment.

“There are certain calls a parent never wants to get,” his father continued. “Within the last month, I’ve gotten two such calls.”

“I’m SO unbelievably sorry,” Blaine replied, studying his hands, which were occupying his lap. “I didn’t even know where Puck was going last night when we left.”

“What’s done is done,” his father said with a resigned sigh. “Don’t you think…” he glanced over at Blaine for the first time since they’d arrived home: “maybe this is a message from God?”

“My boyfriend was kidnapped Dad,” Blaine spat. A terrible thought settled in the pit of his stomach. “Maybe worse. I highly doubt God speaks through felons.”

“Blaine…” he warned. “I’m not trying to get into a theological debate with you, and you know it. Your mother and I…we’re just worried about you. That’s all. It’s just…you transfer schools for this boy, and then we get a call that you’re in an emergency room. You almost lose an eye. Then we get a call that you’re in jail?”

“Would it be easier to handle if it were all for a girl?”

“Now you’re twisting my words! I might not be ready to be in a Pride parade yet, but I’ve accepted that this is who you are, but…” he waved his hand in the air. “Forget it. Forget this whole conversation.”

“Dad, if you’ve got something to say, just say it.”

“Is it worth it?” his dad asked, glancing at him from the driver’s seat.

“Excuse me?”

“Is he worth it?”

“You think it’s Kurt’s fault?” Blaine asked, disbelieving what his father was saying.

“I think you’re being influenced by him in potentially harmful ways, yes. Kurt’s…not like you. He’s not...” he paused for a moment in thought. “Discreet.”

“Funny,” Blaine snapped back. “I call it brave.”

The rest of the drive was silent.

 

* * *

 

Dave Karofsky could hardly say he was surprised to see detectives at his door after he saw the news. Ever since he saw the report, he’d been rehearsing the questions he was certain they were going to ask.

So when two cops—a man and a woman (Karofsky didn’t catch their names)—came to his door, he took a deep breath and offered them something to drink, because that’s what his mother always did for guests. 

And guilty people don’t offer their guests a glass of water.

They declined. 

“Here’s my problem, Mr. Karofsky,” the Lady Cop said. “Kurt Hummel’s missing. And as far as his enemies go, you’re kind of near the top of a very short list.”

“We’re not enemies” Karofsky answered. “Not anymore. I mean…we used to be. I kinda gave him a hard time for awhile, but…I’m not that guy…not anymore.”

“We did some digging. Apparently you threatened his life at one point and he took you seriously enough to go to the principal. And when that didn’t take, he transferred to a private school. All because he was afraid for his safety. Because of you.”

“We’re past that. We’re friends now. Kinda.”

“Friends?” Lady-Cop balked. “On what? Opposite Day? You visited his Facebook page over two hundred times in the last forty-eight hours. He’s got a boyfriend, yet you sent him a gorilla gram on Valentine’s Day.”

“No! I mean…I did…I was hoping…but he made it clear he wasn’t interested.”

“So you decided to hire a couple of guys to do some damage?” The Lady-Cop asked. “Is that it?”

“No! Look. I-I-I-I know you don’t have a reason to believe me,” Karofsky stammered. “And yeah, I know how it looks…if I were you, I’d think the same thing, but, I had nothing to do with this.”

“Where were you shortly after nine last night?” Lady-Cop asked.

Karofsky twisted his class ring on his finger. 

“I was here,” he answered, not making eye-contact. “I was watching the Blue Jackets game on the Flatscreen.”

“That’s hockey,” the Guy-Cop filled in. Lady-Cop rolled her eyes.

“Who were they playing?” Guy-Cop asked.

“The Ducks,” Karofsky fired back.

“Who won?” Guy-Cop asked.

“Ducks,” Karofsky said with a grimace. “They should never have traded Vermette for McElhinney.”

“Who made the last play in that game?” Guy-Cop asked.

“Well, if you were on this case. You wouldn’t know that, either.” Karofsky countered.

“The internet is not just for porn, kid,” Guy-Cop said with a smirk. “That kind of thing is easy to Google. Here’s the thing…I don’t think you were here last night.”

“What happened, David?” Lady-Cop demanded.

There was a long beat of silence. 

“Did you have something to do with Kurt’s abduction?” she asked. “Look, if you tell us now, I can put in a good word for you. All you have to do is cooperate. Now.” She leaned in closer, close enough that Karofsky could tell she hadn’t showered or brushed her teeth yet that day, which made Karofsky flinch back. “Tell us where he is.”

“I don’t know, okay?!” Karofsky was shouting now. “Look, I was sort of…in a bar last night at that time.”

“Which bar?” Lady-Cop demanded.

“Scandals.” Karofsky half-mumbled, studying the pattern on the Oriental rug in his living room.

“Any witnesses?” Guy-Cop asked.

“The bartender. I don’t know if this helps, but about a week ago, there was this guy there.”

“It’s a gay bar. You’re going to have to be a teensy bit more specific,” Lady-Cop spat.

“I-I-I mean…there’s this guy who hangs out there a lot. Sebastian. He was there with Kurt and his boyfriend this one time, and Sebastian was hanging all over Blaine…the boyfriend.”

“So?” Lady-Cop prompted.

“So…I clean up for the owner of Scandals on weekends for some extra cash, and I saw that Sebastian dude come in with a couple of guys. They didn’t seem exactly…comfortable there, and…not like they were closeted. They were checking out some of the more convincing drag queens. Anyway, Sebastian handed out envelopes to both of them, and there was a print-out of Kurt’s Facebook page left at their table. I thought it was weird at the time, but it’s the kind of place where most people tend to mind their own business unless, well…” he looked down again. “…you know.”

“Could you point them out if you saw them again?” Guy-Cop asked.

“Sebastian? Sure. He goes to Dalton. I think his last name is something like Smith…but…not quite.”

“What about the guys he was with?” Lady-Cop asked. “Can you point them out in a line-up?”

“I didn’t get a good look at their faces, sorry.”

She handed him a card. “If you think of anything else, call this number. And please make yourself available if we need to ask more questions.”

“She means don’t leave town,” Guy-Cop put in.

“For what it’s worth,” Karofsky said as they lead them to the door. “I hope you find him.”

Lady-Cop nodded and with that, they both left.


	10. Chapter 10

Logically, Kurt knew this plan of Sebastian’s wasn’t going to work.

He knew he had to stay calm. A panic attack wouldn’t do anybody any good, and the worst Sebastian was obviously capable of violence, but all he really wanted to do was intimidate him. 

He knew Blaine better than anyone else in the world. Blaine was a lot of things, but gullible wasn’t one of them, and there was no way that he’d be that easily swayed by Sebastian’s attempt at charm.

For Sebastian’s plan to work, Blaine had to believe that the kid was him, and that the people who loved him the most were going to stop looking just because someone resembled him.

Did Sebastian really think Blaine was that stupid? That his family would just give up that easily? 

He knew the same way he knew that the ocean was deep that as long as there was a possibility that he was still alive, that at least two people would never give up.

He worried about his dad, how he was taking the news. What if the stress was bad for his heart? What if he had another heart attack and Kurt couldn’t get to him in time? Sebastian wouldn’t care about that. 

And Blaine…

Yes, they’d been fighting, but deep down, Kurt knew it was a stupid fight and they would’ve made up long before now if this hadn’t happened. More than anything, Kurt just wanted to wrap his arms around Blaine again and spend the rest of his life making up for it. 

He played the report over and over again in his mind, and he couldn’t help but wonder how far the police were in the investigation. He wondered who’d been questioned. If any of his friends had to be questioned because of Sebastian’s latest stunt, he had a new reason to be angry all over again.

He had no idea how much long he’d be here, and he didn’t know for certain that Sebastian wouldn’t decide to kill him in the end.

But he knew if it came down to it, he’d fight like hell. 

And at the end of the day, he knew Sebastian would not win.

* * *

 

It was after 1 AM by the time Carole finished talking to the detectives. She’d found Burt and Finn waiting up for her.

“Oh Burt…he looked just like him. I mean, you couldn’t really see his face because it was burned so badly, and I know a lot of boys fit that description, but…when he opened his eyes…that’s what made me think…” 

She broke down all over again and Burt wrapped his arms around her.

“He’s not dead,” Burt said after a long while. “As you said, lot of boys fit that description. It could be anybody.”

“Still,” Carole sniffled as she prepared herself a kettle for a cup of chamomile tea. “We don’t know for sure. It could be anybody, yes. But it could just as easily be Kurt.”

“You really think it’s him, don’t you, Mom?” Finn asked, standing in the doorway.

“I don’t want that to be true any more than you do, but we need to prepare ourselves for the possibility.”

“So you’re just giving up? Just like that?” Finn shouted.

“I want Kurt home safe where he belongs as much as anyone, but honey, I’m just saying, the police aren’t getting anywhere, and at least this way, if it is Kurt,” she let out a long, shaky breath as she fiddled with the tea bag in the cup she had out for when the tea was ready, “at least we’ll know he’s at peace. At least we’ll know where he is. At least whoever hurt him wouldn’t be able to anymore.”

 

Nobody in the Hudson-Hummel household had gotten any sleep that night. Finn had been restless, and tried to watch TV, but it seemed like every channel had the latest bulletin on Kurt’s “death.” 

He didn’t believe it, and he couldn’t even find it in his heart to be surprised when the detective came to the door to confirm that it wasn’t Kurt, that it was actually some poor kid named Colby Porter who’d just happen to be involved in an accident that day. 

Burt called Blaine to let him know, and then he and his mom had just cried in each other’s arms and Finn went upstairs to get ready for school.

“You don’t have to go today if you don’t want to, honey,” his mom offered.

“No…I mean…I know usually, I’d be all ‘Yay, no school!’ But I can’t just sit around here Mom. I’m going nuts. I need to do something that feels normal, you know?”

“Just be careful, honey. Call 9-1-1 and then call us if you see anything suspicious.”

Finn nodded, and with that, he left.

* * *  
Blaine knew that sooner or later, he’d have to face a Kurt-less McKinley. He just didn’t think it’d be so sudden or for reasons this awful. He glanced up at the façade of the school dreading the fresh hell that was surely waiting for him in the walls within, and for the first time since that day he saw him on the Dalton stairs, he felt completely and utterly alone.

Outside of the people in New Directions, he didn’t even know anyone at McKinley, and outside of Kurt. He was, for all intents and purposes, alone. He didn’t have any friends here, not real ones. The girls in New Directions were more Kurt’s friends than his. He knew the guys well enough to say hello to them, but unless it was a group thing with Kurt, he wouldn’t really know what to say to them.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, shaking him out of his reverie, and found Rachel offering him a small smile. 

“It’ll be okay, Blaine,” Rachel said. “He’s going to be back where he belongs before we know it. He just has to! I mean…who am I going to go to New York with?”

“Because yes, Fievel, the only reason Kurt should come back is so you can be his fag hag,” Santana sneered. “Come on, Frosted Mini-Wheat,” she said, turning to Blaine. “We’ve got your back.”

“Dolphins are really smart, Blaine,” Brittany informed him. “They always find their way home. That’s how I know Kurt’s going to find his way back to us before we know it.”

“Thanks, I think?” Blaine said, thoroughly confused.

“That’s pigeons, Britt,” Santana said. “Pigeons find their way home.”

Blaine was about to say something in response when Mercedes brushed past them. 

“What’s wrong with her?” Blaine wondered aloud. 

“They ran out of McGriddles at McDonald’s this morning, maybe?” Santana said with a shrug. “Who the hell knows. Come on, we’re about to be late.”

If this was the beginning of his day, Blaine almost didn’t want to stick around for the end of it.


	11. Chapter 11

AN: So sorry I accidentally posted the same chapter twice! Here's the real chapter 11...  
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

When Will arrived at work Monday morning, Figgins ushered him and Emma in his office. Sue was waiting for them when they arrived, along with a woman Will had recognized from the police reports on the news over the weekend.

He didn’t even have to ask what this was about.

“William, I am sure you are aware of Kurt Hummel’s disappearance on Friday night,” he stated, taking a seat behind his desk. “I’ve already told the Lima Police that they can expect full cooperation from the McKinley High faculty and staff.”

Will nodded.

“I’m Delia Lebowski,” the stranger said. “I’m the detective in charge of the case. I’d like to ask you a few questions if you don’t mind.”

“Yeah,” Will said absent-mindedly. “Anything to help.”

“Has Kurt seemed distracted or upset about anything lately?”

Will shook his head. “Not that I noticed. I mean, he’s got NYADA auditions coming up and that was a big worry for him, but other than that, things seemed to be going pretty well.”

“Do you know of anyone who’d wish him harm?”

“I hate to say it, but Kurt’s kind of got some enemies around here. I mean, isn’t that what happens when you stand out in a place like this? There’s the jocks who aren’t in Glee. And while I don’t think Dave…”

“Dave who?”

“Karofsky. He was a former student at McKinley who used to give Kurt a hard time. I really don’t believe he would hurt him anymore,” Will back-pedaled. “Although he did threaten to kill him a year ago. Then there’s the jocks who aren’t in glee…and yeah. It’s kind of a long list.”

“Anyone stand out in particular?”

Will was silent in thought for a minute.

“I know there’s been some violence from a member of a competing glee club.”

“What happened?”

That was the trouble, Will didn’t really know except for what Finn told him, which wasn’t much. “I don’t have all the details. All I know is that Kurt was the intended target of a slushy with rock salt in it. It wound up hitting Blaine instead, who had to have eye-surgery and had to miss a few weeks of school.”

“Do you know who was responsible?”

“I think his name was Sebastian.”

“I’d like to talk to some of Kurt’s friends if you don’t mind. I’ve already had a discussion with a Noah Puckerman and Blaine Anderson, as well as Finn Hudson, but I’d like to get a better sense of what we could be dealing with here.”

“Yes, I heard about that,” Sue piped up for the first time. “Puckerman, I can understand. That kid has a record longer than War and Peace, but Blaine Anderson? Believe me, the only crime that one’s capable of is bow-tie abuse.”

She cleared her throat. “Ma’am, he was just brought in for questioning, that’s all. We were following the only lead we had at the time.”

“Well, you’re doing a bang-up job there, Cagney. Porcelain’s been gone since Friday night. You’re well past the forty-eight hour mark. I watch the Criminal investigation Network! I know what that means!”

“I appreciate your concern, but we’re doing the best we…”

“You can take your platitudes and shove them up your flabby ass! Porcelain deserves better than this. I will give you twenty-four hours!”

“Sue!” Will warned.

“I’m not finished, William. After that, if you still don’t have the right person in custody, I will call every single press junket that I’ve got on speed dial. I’ll tell the world just what kind of idiots are wasting hard-earned resources.” She lowered her voice to a near-growl. “You’ve. Been. Warned.”

With that, Sue stormed out, knocking down a framed picture in her wake.

* * *

Blaine genuinely liked school. 

Most of the time.

Sure, there were parts of it he didn’t like, and classes might not have been as challenging as they were at Dalton, but he actually loved learning and coming to McKinley definitely wasn’t the sacrifice his parents made it out to be. He would’ve missed getting the lead in _West Side Story_ if he hadn’t transferred. He got to sing pretty much what he wanted and he couldn’t say no to that. It nearly killed him when he had to miss for three weeks for the eye surgery. And not just because he couldn’t see Kurt all the time. 

Granted, that was a big part of it, but it wasn’t the entire reason.

Today, though, he wanted nothing more than an excuse to go back home and hide.

Every single person he passed was eyeing him warily as he walked by, but nobody spoke to him. A couple of people looked in his direction and shook his head. 

Even that Teen Jesus kid Blaine referred to in his head as Shoeless Joe came up to him to inform him that he was “praying for Kurt’s safe return.”

It wasn’t until first period that Jacob Ben-Israel cornered him.

“JBI reporting live from the hallowed halls of McKinley High. The latest buzz is that Kurt Hummel is missing and that boyfriend Blaine Anderson was questioned by police over the weekend. Blaine, rumor has it that you’re responsible for Kurt Hummel’s disappearance. What do you have to say to the blogosphere regarding those allegations?”

Blaine sighed. It was a small town. Of course word had gotten out about that.

“Charges haven’t been brought against me. Which is why I’m at school now instead of in jail. Now if you don’t mind, first period calls.”

He was surprised when Sam of all people began ushering him away. “You heard him,” Sam said. “Now get lost.”

“Hey, thanks…for that,” Blaine said before he ducked into history class.

“No problem, man. Kurt was really cool when I was homeless and stuff. I figured this way, I’m kind of returning the favor, you know?”

Blaine wanted to say something about not needing a knight in bleach-blonde armor and being able to take care of himself just fine, but before he could, Sam was on his way to his own class.

 

On the way to third period, Blaine whipped his head around when one of the jocks (he thought Kurt said his name was Azimio) shouted: “Yo, fairy, where’s your princess?!” 

Blaine wanted to hide right then and there. It’d been a long time since he’d heard slurs like that, and he’d forgotten how awful it felt, but before he even knew what was happening, Mike was there. “Hey! Leave him alone!” he warned.

“Or you’ll what? Tap-dance me to death, twinkle-toes?”

“I don’t think you wanna find out,” Mike said in a low, threatening tone, staring them down.

“Thanks,” Blaine said, but he didn’t really mean it.

Mike just nodded.

 

By the time glee rehearsal rolled around, Blaine had had enough. He made a bee-line for the choir room as soon as seventh period was over because he thought it was the only place he couldn’t be bothered for a few seconds, but as he approached, he heard people talking. Mercedes’ and Rachel’s argument was loud enough that he didn’t have to strain to hear what was being said.

“Mercedes, did you even listen to what you just said? There is no way that Blaine is responsible for what happened to Kurt!”

“Look, I don’t like the idea any more than you do. But something tells me that there’s got to be a reason why the cops questioned him to begin with.”

“It was because they were at the crime scene and Blaine took something. That was it. Blaine didn’t do anything wrong other than listen to me,” Puck said. 

“Listen Mercedes,” Finn was saying. “I might not like him one hundred percent of the time, either, but you’ve seen them together. Blaine loves Kurt. Like, really loves him. There’s no way he could’ve done anything. And plus, if he did, he knows Burt’ll kill him, and I don’t think he’d do anything to piss my mom off, either.” 

“Look,” Quinn was saying. “I know you don’t always get along with Blaine, but he’s hurting, and he needs all the support we can give him.”

Blaine had had enough.

He pushed the doors open.

The entire club was there, sans Schue, eyeing him nervously. 

“Blaine,” Rachel said. “We were just talking about you, and we want you to know that if you need anything, anything at all…” she hastily began to gather her things to offer Blaine her seat.

“Listen, Rachel, I appreciate that you’re so worried about me, but I really wish you’d guys would understand that I’m fine. Really. I can take care of myself. I don’t need to be chaperoned. I don’t need to be baby-sat, and I certainly don’t need anyone’s pity.”

And then he left.

“Blaine?” Will called out as soon as he saw him leave the classroom. “Finn, wanna see what’s up?”

“I’ve got this y’all.” Artie said and wheeled himself out of the room and down the hall to where he knew Blaine was headed.

The gym.

 

 

It felt good to hit something.

Blaine felt powerful, in control, and not helpless for perhaps the first time that day. For the first time since Kurt left after their fight, if he was honest.

He was just so angry.

He was mad at Kurt for being so ridiculous about the Warblers to begin with; mad at the people who took him; mad at his parents for the way they seemed actually happy that Kurt wasn’t back yet; mad at Mercedes for actually thinking he was capable of it. Mad at the cops for not doing anything to help find him; mad at everyone else for trying to baby him. 

That was a lot to be mad about.

“Yo, Blaine,” Artie called after him.

And now he was mad at Artie for interrupting him. 

“Not you too,” Blaine said as he hit the punching bag with all his might with his right fist.

“Dude…I get it,” Artie replied, but Blaine wasn’t listening. 

Kurt was stolen from him. His gorgeous, perfect boyfriend was ripped from his life and Blaine didn’t know if he was ever coming back. He didn’t even remember the last thing he said to Kurt, just the look on his face before he left, and he’d give anything to take that back. And now his parents were actually relieved that he wasn’t a fixture in his life, because they didn’t approve of Kurt, and he knew the people in New Directions meant well, but it’s like they didn’t even know how to talk to him without Kurt attached to his hip.

“Get what?” Blaine finally said after a moment’s pause.

“People are treating you differently all of a sudden. Am I right?”

Blaine nodded.

“It’s like all of a sudden, they don’t know what to do with you.”

“How’d you know?”

“People treated me kind of the same way right when I had my accident.”

“I’m not paralyzed,” Blaine said, sitting on the bench. “My boyfriend’s missing.”

“Yeah, you can walk still, but that doesn’t mean you’re not paralyzed.”  
“Look, Artie, I appreciate your concern, but I’m kinda busy here.” He stood up and began to pummel the punching bag again with everything he had in him.

Artie grabbed the bag on one of its swings and held it just out of Blaine’s reach. 

“Let me finish. I feel you, brother. Your boyfriend—the one you transferred for to a school without the greatest track-record ever when it comes to tolerance—is missing. You almost lost an eye to protect him. It’s always been Blaine and Kurt, Kurt and Blaine ever since I’ve known you. There’s a reason I cast you guys as the old married couple in the Christmas special. Besides Mike and Tina, you two are like the most stable couple I know. And to top it all off, nobody knows how to act around you without him around.”

“So…”

“People try to coddle you, act extra-nice towards you, treat you like they think you’re about to break. Or worse, they act as though nothing happened and pretend to ignore what’s right in front of their faces.”

“Artie, if this is a pep-talk,” he said, getting the punching bag back, “you kind of suck at it.”

“Blaine-man, people treated me the same way when I first got my wheels. And I used to hate it, until I realized something.”

“What’s that?”

“People suck. Especially when it comes to things they don’t understand.”

“Yeah, found that one out a long time ago.”

“Thing is. They suck, but they really do wanna help for the most part.”

“You have more faith in humanity than I do, my friend,” Blaine replied with a snort of laughter. 

“Word of advice, yo? Don’t let’ em get to you. And seriously, I know we’re not exactly besties, but if you ever need to talk, hit me up.”

Blaine couldn’t even look at Artie. If he looked up at his companion, Blaine was pretty sure that he would break down. Talking wasn’t going to fix the situation. Talking wasn’t going to help. Talking wasn’t going to bring Kurt back. He knew from experience punching the bag wouldn’t help, either, but at least it was a distraction. At least it was some kind of release. 

“Would you mind telling everyone I just need some space?” He finally said after a beat.

“Sure thing,” Artie replied.

With that, Artie left, and Blaine was alone with the punching bag.


	12. Chapter 12

The barista at the Lima Bean gave him a sad smile, and Blaine knew that coming here was a bad idea. He’d seen her here before. She had one of those names that ended in ‘y.’

He needed a pick-me-up for the ride home, though, and at least the coffee shop was sparsely populated. 

“Your usual?” she asked. He nodded, and took a seat in an empty booth. He pulled out his wallet, but she waved a hand dismissing him. “It’s on the house.”

“Listen, I heard about what happened to Non-Fat Mocha,” she said, stepping away from the counter and joining him in the booth. She took a deep breath as she hand him the coffee. “Look, I’m not…I don’t want to pry. I just…I see you guys in here like all the time and then when I saw the news, I was like… ‘Oh my GOD that’s Medium Drip’s Non-Fat Mocha guy!’ And look…I just wanted to say…I was really glad when they said he wasn’t really dead on the news this morning and…wow…I’m rambling. I should…just…” she whimpered. “Sorry to bother you…I’ll just…I’ve got work. I should go.”

“No, hey…thanks…” Blaine said, still kind of hating the fact that the reason she was talking to him at all was because of what happened to Kurt. But Artie was right, she was just trying to help. 

“Hey Short-Stack,” a familiar voice greeted from the door. He looked up and saw Santana there with Finn, making Blaine wish there was an easy exit. “Woah, not bolting! That’s progress!”

She slid into the booth next to him, and Finn sat in the seat across from them. 

“Look, guys, I’m sorry I bailed on rehearsal today. I just needed some privacy, you know?”

“I get it,” Finn said. “Look, this past weekend has been hard on everyone. But seriously, dude? Skipping out of rehearsal two weeks before Regionals? Not cool.”

“Did Rachel put you up to this?” Blaine asked, standing up and getting his things. “Because honestly, guys, I’m sorry I skipped out. It won’t happen again. But right now, I just want to go home.”

“Finn might be wrapped around Berry’s little finger,” Santana said, standing up to block Blaine’s way out of the booth. “But me? No. Fucking. Way. You think you’re doing Kurt any favors by being a douche-bag to everyone else?” Santana asked. “Look, Blanderson. I get it. I do. If Britt went missing, I’d probably be emo like a Tori Amos song, too, but seriously? Suck. It. Up.”

“Also?” Finn piped up. “Rachel didn’t ask me to come here. This whole thing was my idea. I thought Glee Club mattered to you. But apparently, Kurt is the only thing keeping you here, and if that’s the case? You should just go back to your fancy school and join Sebastian at Dalton. I’m sure they’d be thrilled to have their old lead singer back.”

“Well, speak of the devil,” she purred. Blaine whipped his head around to see Sebastian breezing through the door. “In this case, literally.”

“Shrek, Cruella, Blaine,” Sebastian greeted, smiling in a way that was anything but friendly. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Actually, I was just leaving,” Blaine said, but Sebastian blocked his path. 

“By the bye, Blaine, I heard about your boy…and I do use the term loosely…friend. If you ever need a shoulder to cry on…” he winked and Blaine fought every impulse he had not to punch him right then and there.

“Go back to hell where you belong,” Santana spat.

“Blaine,” Sebastian said, ignoring her. “I thought such riff-raff was beneath you.”

“I’m kind of busy, Sebastian,” Blaine said.

“I can see that. Look, just come with me, and I can take you away from all this.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Look, Blaine if this is still about the rock-salt thing, let me make it up to you. Scandals. You and me.”

Sebastian put his hand on his shoulder, and Blaine shrugged it off hard enough for the sleeve to lift up, and that’s when he saw it.

Three long, angry red scratches going down his wrist.

“Where’d you get those?”

“A little kitty gave me hell the other day.” 

“Must’ve been a hell of a cat-fight,” he said, gripping his fingernails into the scratches. 

“Yeah, well…at the moment, I’m still winning.” If Sebastian was feeling any of the pain Blaine meant for him to feel, he certainly wasn’t showing it.

“Somebody should say something about the health code in this place. Looks like we’ve got a rat here,” Santana said with a glare.

Sebastian jerked his arm back. “I’m going, I’m going,” he said, rubbing the injured area. “See you all at Regionals.”

“What the hell was that about?” Finn asked.

“I think he did it,” Blaine announced. “I think he’s the one who took Kurt.”

“Seriously? You’re sure?” Finn asked. 

“I saw scratches on his wrist. There was no way those were from a cat. Kurt left scratches on me just like that when…nevermind.”

“So…what you’re saying here is that you’re the bottom?” Santana said. 

“We should go to the police,” Finn said, apparently ignoring Santana’s remark and getting out his cell phone. “We should…we have to do something.”

Santana smacked it down on the table with a loud thwack. “And say what? Arrest Sebastian Smythe, son of the Assistant District Attorney because we know what human scratch-marks look like? We’ve got to give them more than that.”

“I have to go after him,” Finn announced, gathering his things again and getting up. “I can’t just sit here and let him get away with this.”

Like a shot, Finn was crawling over Santana in the booth and leaving the coffee shop, and Blaine and Santana followed him out.

 **“Hey!”** Finn screamed, tearing after a black BMW sedan pulling out of the parking-lot. **“Where the fuck is my brother you son of a bitch?”**

 

* * *

It was Tuesday, and Mike didn’t understand how they still weren’t any closer to getting Kurt back. It was impossible to even enter McKinley High’s doors without Sue herding him as well as Tina and Mercedes past a hoard of reporters camping out at the main entrance.

He didn’t really know Kurt all that well, but he always refused to participate in any of the stuff the jocks tried to do to him, even before glee. He always respected the guy, though, and admired him for daring to be different in a place where it really wasn’t okay to stand out. 

Blaine, though? He was the closest thing Mike actually had to a best friend since Matt transferred, and he wanted to help the poor guy, but he had no clue how. He tried to fend off Jacob Ben-Israel the day before, because it was something he could actually do to help, but Blaine made it clear that he didn’t want it, so he mostly just left Blaine alone. 

Finally, though, it was time for glee, and Blaine asked if he could take the floor as soon as Schue officially began the rehearsal.

“Guys, as I’m sure you’re all aware, the last few days have been maybe the hardest ever, but that was no excuse for the way I acted. You were trying to help, and I appreciate that…and…thanks for putting up with me.”

“Blaine, as glee co-captain,” Rachel piped up, “I can assure you, nobody’s blaming you for venting. If I apologized for every time I stormed out…”

“We would’ve never had rehearsal, ever.” Mercedes put in, which earned giggles from the rest of the group.

Puck’s phone buzzed then, and he glanced over at Mike.

“Dude, Matt says your butt needs to hang up and says to call him. He wants to know what the fuck is going on.”

Schue nodded, giving his permission, and with that, Mike left to call Matt.


	13. Chapter 13

Mike didn’t even need to scroll down for Matt’s number. He knew it by heart.

He didn’t even say hello.

 _“So I’m watching the news…” Matt began._

“Let me guess, watching for Reds scores?”

_“Is there any other reason to watch the news? But back to the point. So I’m waiting for the sports segment, and there’s this report on a missing kid, and normally, it’s not the kind of thing that holds my attention, but then I look up…and it’s the gay kid…Kurt. So you were going to tell me…when, exactly? Then I get butt-dialed, and some dude is apologizing. Since when does anyone apologize in Glee for anything?”_

Matt didn't speak up much if at all unless it was someone he was comfortable with. Mike was proud to say that he was on the short-list of one of those people. 

“Good to hear from you, too, bro.”

_“Oh no…you are not getting all touchy-feely on me now. Bring me up to speed.”_

Mike sighed. “Finn called a Bro Meeting at his house late on Friday night. After the cops asked questions, Puck took Blaine (that’s Apology Guy…Kurt’s boyfriend) to the crime scene and they both spent the night in jail. Blaine (who’s pretty much the nicest guy ever) blew up at us for looking out for him, so that’s what he was apologizing for.”

_“Dude. That’s fucked up.”_

Mike nodded as if Matt could see him. “I know. Blaine said he’s pretty sure it’s the head of the Warblers--”

_“Sebastian Smythe?” Matt interrupted._

“Yeah? Know him?”

_“That guy’s trouble with a capital ‘T.’ He accidentally…and I’m using air-quotations here…tripped up our lead singer at an invitational and he’s still in traction. Mike, if it is him, this isn’t good.”_

“I know.”

_“So what are we going to do?”_

“Matt, there’s nothing to do. We just have to wait for the cops to figure it out.”

_“No, man. Listen, I have an idea. His aunt lives in town, and she’s been down in Florida for the summer, and I go past her house to school every day. Dude…the lights are on, there were two cars parked out front and I don’t think Ms. Smythe drives a beat-up pick-up truck.”_

“That could mean anything.”

_“Yeah, but it could mean something. What if I swing by and poke around?”_

“Who do you think you are, Matt, Nancy Drew? Seriously. Don’t get into any trouble over us.”

_“I won’t get into any trouble. Besides, I meant what I said to Mr. Schue a couple of years ago on the last day that one year. Because of New Directions, I joined the Glee Club here, and it’s pretty tight. I owe you guys.”_

* * *

Carole didn’t know how many calls they’d all gotten from reporters and from random people since this whole thing began. She couldn’t go anywhere without being accosted by a swarm of blinking cameras and reporters shoving microphones in her face. She was beginning to understand why Brittney Spears shaved her head, because it was enough to drive anyone crazy.

Finn asked Burt if they could disconnect the phone, especially after a call at two in the morning woke them all up, but then Burt realized that if they disconnected it, Kurt wouldn’t have any way to call home if he needed to, so the endless barrage of phone calls continued, and Carole purchased earplugs for them all the next day.

Nobody in the Hudson-Hummel household needed to discuss what to say to the press. Burt already had enough of reporters with his election, and wanted no part in the media circus. Finn certainly didn’t want any part in it, either, and Carole just wanted to be able to run her errands and go to work in peace again.

They’d gotten offers for interviews from nearly every major network, most of them offering to pay thousands of dollars to each of them for the rights to air their story, but Burt’s answer was always a resounding ‘No.’

LeRoy Berry, who was a publicist for local politicians in Lima, had offered to be the family spokesperson when Rachel told him the press was camped out in front of the school the first day of the week. Even though Burt didn’t want anything to do with the press, he agreed, just so he didn’t have to worry about fielding every single question himself. 

There were more pressing things on his mind.

Kurt had been missing for almost a week when he got a call from LeRoy.

 _“I know that the last thing you want to do is invite the press,”_ LeRoy began. _“But I got a call from an associate producer today.”_

Burt rolled his eyes and steeled himself to say no, because he could see where this was headed. LeRoy was going to tell him someone else wanted an interview.

“LeRoy, look, I appreciate you taking on the press for us, but if you’re trying to change my mind about this, I think you’re fired.”

_“You can’t fire me. We’re practically in-laws. It’s bad luck to fire the in-law before the wedding.”_

“Look, LeRoy, I appreciate what you’re doing for us, but this is non-negotiable. I told you, anyone calls from any damn show, I don’t care what it is, tell them no thanks.”

“Burt, I think it might not be a bad idea.”

“You know how much I got offered to be on Nancy Grace? It would’ve been enough to take Carole on that honeymoon to Waikiki for a month in a four-star hotel. And fly both of us first-class. But honestly, LeRoy? Making money from something because my son was kidnapped? Because someone is hurting my kid as we speak? I just can’t do it.”

_“So what if you did an interview for free?” LeRoy reasoned. “What if you did it to call whoever’s responsible out for what they did to Kurt? You’d have a national audience. Someone watching it might grow a conscience and come forward if they know something. It might be enough to give the police a lead, which as far as I know they haven’t had one all week.”_

“So long as it’s not someone from the Fox network. Kurt would never let me live that one down.”

 

* * *  
Contrary to popular belief, Detective Delia Lebowski really did want to find Kurt Hummel. The more unharmed the better, but she knew that as the days drained into weeks, his chances weren’t good.

And the press certainly wasn’t helping matters. 

She understood why they were critical of her and the Lima Police Department. If she were on the outside looking in, she’d have choice words for herself and Gilnitz, too, but the truth of the matter was, there honestly wasn’t much to go on.

They had nothing but witness testimony, and until they got more than that, there really wasn’t anything she could do.

Gilnitz was out at the moment trying to obtain a warrant from a judge so they could have access to Sebastian Smythe’s financial records, but until they had that, all Lebowski could do was twiddle her thumbs and field phone calls from angry reporters and even angrier parents, friends and family members.

“No, Mr. Hummel. Blaine Anderson is no longer a suspect in our investigation,” Delia Lebowski said as she sighed into the phone. “Look, we’re…I’m doing everything I can, but the truth is, there’s not much to go on.” There was a pause. “We’re looking into other avenues.”

She waved her partner in as he held up an envelope and mouthed ‘Warrant.’

She grinned. “So those avenues I mentioned? We’re about to go down one. I’ll call you as soon as there’s progress. I promise.”

Finally, after almost a week of nothing, they were getting somewhere.


End file.
